


Pretend You Love Me

by oosa



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Arthur and Alfred have a ~Special Relationship~, Arthur is in denial and afraid of opening up, Cold War, Domestic Fluff, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff, Hetalia Countries Using Human Names, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, USUK - Freeform, USUKUS, Unresolved Tension, good thing we have a good boy on the case, somewhat possessive Arthur, takes place between post-WWII and the start of the Cold War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:41:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28329171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oosa/pseuds/oosa
Summary: Urged by their bosses, Arthur and Alfred reluctantly agree to enter a relationship for the sake of their alliance.
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 48





	Pretend You Love Me

It was this strange limbo they’d caught themselves in. Together and publicly out, and yet not. Forced to be with someone they did not choose for themselves, and yet not.

It was not unusual for a nation in an arranged relationship of any sort to pursue someone else behind their boss’s back, maintaining a relatively happy and prosperous marriage in public while discreetly loving another. Usually, each partner was well aware and rather accepting, if not encouraging, of the other’s so-called infidelity. They had not, after all, chosen one another. 

Yet, there was this unspoken rule between Alfred and Arthur that neither would pursue another. Once out of the public’s eyes, they would drop their excessively affectionate gestures and treat each other unlike two lovers would. It was a comfortable distance, yet they remained close enough to be able to reach out and touch the other without much difficulty, even if every touch did ache. The gap between them that had existed for centuries had finally, at least, began to dwindle under their gazes.

Alfred watched Arthur smile as he engaged in witty banter with another thinking, believing, the Special Relationship is with me. Not him or her or anyone else. Alfred would catch himself and his guilt and shame would settle as he buried those thoughts, reminding himself that adultery- if you could even call it that- in arranged relationships was to be expected. But by then it’d been too late. Arthur was quite in tune with Alfred’s expressions and body language and had not missed that face even as Alfred turned away. Excusing himself with a polite bow, he’d retire next to Alfred. Neither said a word about Arthur’s sudden leave, nor did Arthur bother making up an excuse as to why he no longer wished to speak with anyone else. But him.

The situation confused everyone, including the non-couple themselves. Alfred was certainly not short of potential suitors, as Arthur begrudgingly noticed, yet the mystery surrounding the exact nature of their relationship baffled everyone who might have wanted to pursue him, unsure if the default rules applied to them as well or if they were overstepping boundaries. 

Alfred, for as perceptive of Arthur and his feelings as he was, did not always catch Arthur’s looks himself. In most cases, this ended with Arthur possessively slipping an arm around Alfred’s shoulder or waist, pulling him in closer as he joined the conversation, grinning all the way. In one particular case, it had led to an argument.

“You understand that the public believes us to be together, and that you cannot go around shamelessly flirting like some shameless schoolboy and-”

“I was not flirting!” Alfred retorted. “And besides, who cares about the public, if the public couldn’t even see us?”

Arthur opened his mouth then abruptly closed it with pursed lips. Of course, they had been in private and away from prying eyes, that was true. How had he let that important detail escape him? In spite of that, that had not suppressed this bubbling frustration, this fear from emerging from his chest and simmering in his throat. But why? Why did he still care? He averted his gaze. 

“I… am only being careful,” Arthur explained, voice lowered, and crossed his arms. Yes, that had been the reason. “It would be a scandal if an outsider saw and misinterpreted the situation.” Alfred watched him carefully as he spoke.

“Sorry,” Alfred replied after a brief moment in an almost whisper, prompting Arthur to turn and look at him again. “...but I meant it. I was only being nice.” He extended his arm and gave Arthur’s forearm a light squeeze before crossing his own arms. Arthur’s eyes grazed over the area where he’d been so gently touched. He mentally cursed at himself. 

“Very well. As long as our alliance is not in jeopardy,” Arthur cleared his throat.

“Is that what worries you the most?” Alfred did not say.

To further uphold their image, they’d taken to holding hands in public and offering long looks brimming with fondness while uttering audible words of endearment. Their hands were often unbearably cold, but they tolerated it for the cameras before pulling away in private. The first time they noticed they were still walking hand in hand despite having walked out of the public’s view, they recoiled in embarrassment, desperately searching for anything else they could possibly do or discuss that would take their mind off how soft the other’s palm felt, how natural it felt even as their minds remained foggy. Around the fourth, maybe fifth time they’d caught themselves, there was no letting go. They’d nervously glance at their intertwined hands, and talked about anything else. Once, Alfred had given Arthur’s hand a firm squeeze and Arthur had stopped reaching for his hand only when someone was watching.

Alfred and Arthur had kissed before. They had always been small pecks, usually initiated by Arthur, who’d reach over to plant a chaste kiss on his colony’s cheek or forehead. Nearly two centuries later, it was Alfred who had initiated a different kind of kiss. Pressured by close state officials and encouraged by an entourage of yellow press journalists who had begun to question the legitimacy of their relationship, Alfred, donning his flashiest smile for the cameras, leaned over and kissed Arthur square on the cheek, earning a lively reaction from the pleased crowd. Pulling away, Alfred turned to face the crowd, sporting his beloved all-American smile, a smile that was soon wiped away as Arthur, grabbing the sides of his head, pulled him back in, this time, pressing their lips together in a kiss that had lasted much longer than any of their previous ones ever had. When they pulled away, it was Arthur who now faced the crowd, now exploding with enthusiasm, with a smirk as Alfred, struggling to maintain his confident composure, almost seemed to shrink beside him. 

“Not cool!” Alfred, adorning rosy cheeks, groaned once he was sure they were out of earshot. 

“They wanted a kiss, so I gave them one,” Arthur replied as he readjusted his tie in his reflection. “I’m supposed to be your lover, not your mum.”

“I know that! But, still!” Alfred huffed and crossed his arms, “I wasn’t even prepared.”

“Oh, stop your pouting. As if you’ve never kissed before.”

“I’ve never kissed you before! At least, not like that. That one didn’t count.” 

Those last words made Arthur pause and reconsider his words as his eyes rolled over Alfred’s reflection in the mirror.

“I do apologize,” Arthur finally spoke, turning around as he edged closer to his not-lover, “It wasn’t my intention to… to take that from you.”

“Take what from me?” Arthur placed his hands on either side of Alfred’s crossed arms and slowly slid them upward, feeling the well-defined muscles even underneath his cashmere suit, until they came to settle on his face. This time, they stood so close, pulling would not be necessary. Alfred’s frustrated gaze softened as his hands came up to rest on Arthur’s hands, tracing his knuckles.

That look was knowing, they understood each other well enough for Alfred to recognize an invitation. He closed the few inches that separated them and closed his eyes and, for once, any uncertainty and stiffness that lingered between them seemed to dissipate as they felt the slow and ginger way their mouths moved against the other as if they were mapping the other, trying desperately to memorize that feeling, that touch. They separated and removed their hands from each other. Alfred internally whined at the loss of touch. To his pleasant surprise, Arthur had removed his hands from Alfred’s face only to wrap his arms around his torso, pulling him in once again. Alfred gladly accepted the second kiss, more intensely and fervent than the last, and wrapped his arms around his neck. This time, when they finally separated, they did not release each other immediately, opting instead to lean forward and rest their foreheads together, bodies still pressed against each other. Although he was the first to pull away, Alfred thought he could stay like that for as long as Arthur would allow him to, taking in the warm breaths and tender touches he was not used to. 

“Did that one count?” Arthur whispered breathlessly. Alfred, suddenly snapping out of his blissed and placated state, sharply turned his reddening face away as he gently shoved him away. 

“Oh, come on! They’re waiting on us!” Alfred said as he grabbed Arthur’s hand and led them down the corridor. As serious and leveled as Alfred had attempted to sound, Arthur still could not find it in himself to not look on, at his back, with nothing but amusement and adoration, especially not when his ears glowed so brilliantly red. 

Arthur could not help but notice how much more at ease, more content he’d become after he and Alfred began their relationship. But then, so was everyone, he told himself. The war was over, and there was more to look forward to, better days, brighter skies, and his relationship with Alfred was a result of that, it made sense he’d feel that way. On days that felt less hopeful, Arthur found himself gravitating towards him, even in the middle of the night.

When they visited each other, they had agreed that, for the sake of upholding their lovey-dovey image, they’d stay at the other’s home rather than lodge at a hotel, and even gave one another spare keys to their respective homes. On a particularly difficult night, Arthur had, almost subconsciously, wandered outside the guest room and into Alfred’s study. 

“It’s rather late, is it not?” Arthur spoke softly, trying to not startle him with his sudden entrance. “You should be sleeping. Work can wait.”

Alfred removed his glasses and set his pen down on the wooden table, looking over his shoulder to smile at him. So warm, Arthur almost had to look away, but then that would have been impossible. This time, it seemed, there would be little resistance from him, maybe because Alfred was truly too tired, or maybe because the bags under Arthur’s eyes were too difficult to ignore.

“Nightmares again?” Alfred inquired, almost whispering. Arthur nodded slowly and, recognizing the invitation in Alfred’s mellow blue eyes, made his way towards him. Taking his seat beside him, he leaned against Alfred’s shoulders and closed his eyes when he felt the other’s touch on his head, pulling him in gently. For Arthur to admit such a weakness, he almost thought himself to be truly losing his edge, his inherent sense of self-contained restraint so often expected from his infamously reserved nature. But he supposed that was another consequence of the war. 

“I do too, sometimes,” Alfred confessed, craning his neck sideways to rest his own head on Arthur’s, stifling a giggle as his cheek brushed against unrestrained blond locks. During the war, Arthur had felt some tension and unease disperse from his body with Alfred’s entry. The new security he had brought with him made him feel a renewed sense of confidence about the war, even Churchill was beside himself with glee. In those days, it seemed they had spent more time together in just a few years than they had the entire past century. At the forefront of the war, it had become evident to both of them that their shared grief, their shared burden of the war, of the world, was wholly unique to them and them alone. No one would ever come to experience that power, that criticism the way they had come to know it. It had come as both a relief and terrifying realization that they were perhaps the only people in the entire world who would ever truly understand the other. 

As much as that truth scared Arthur, he was grateful to finally be able to fulfill a longtime need for comfort in another even in the ruins of war, finding solace in the upturned corners of his lips, grinning and beaming even when in pain, when he was afraid. All of it softened the fall.

“It still aches at times… but then, just like during the war…” Arthur sighed contently, letting his eyelids fall. “I look at you and I feel less war torn.” It was an internal musing he had intended to have uttered only within his concealed thoughts. After realizing what he’d said, Arthur was shaken awake, but remained perfectly still as he was, thankful for the fact that, in this position, he was unable to see Alfred’s reaction, and Alfred was unable to see him. But he could still feel the way Alfred’s body tensed before relaxing once again, though this time, his breathing almost seemed off, as calm as it still was.

He was quite the reliable ally, and that was why Arthur felt placaded, that must be why. Though that had not entirely explained the concern he felt for the boy, the way his eyes attached themselves to his body in near-constant concern. He was so clumsy and impulsive after all, God forbid anything were to happen to him, his valuable ally. For as much peace as Alfred had brought him, he brought in just as much worry.

Arthur hadn’t anticipated much stress on a particular night, humming to himself and knitting in peaceful silence, when Alfred had practically kicked down Arthur’s door, bursting with righteous fury, rambling almost incoherently about his boss and Ivan and this and that. Arthur was about to scold him for such a rude entry, and for nearly ruining his current threading, when he looked up and saw his heavily bruised face. 

“Needless to say-” Alfred gestured wildly towards his injuries- “the meeting with the damned Soviet Union did not go well.” Alfred’s voice was erratic, raising the more he spoke. 

“Did you really come stomping here all the way from Moscow, and with your face damaged like that?” Alfred made a face and spread his arms out in a fashion that seemed to scream, obviously! “Why didn’t you get yourself treated before leaving at least?”

“And risk a nurse telling Truman? No way!” Alfred bellowed. “That guy’s already as trigger-happy enough as it is. If I told him about this, I bet he’d be even less willing to hear me out than he already is!”

Arthur sighed as he rose from the couch. Putting his knitting aside, he left and instructed Alfred to find a seat and remain there as he waited. With a throaty groan and his arms crossed, Alfred sunk into the first seat he found.

“This may sting,” Arthur warned as he stirred vinegar and warm water together. Alfred made no objections and simply sat with a pout. “Hold still.” Arthur grabbed him by the jaw and positioned him slightly upward, beginning to gently massage it onto the outer edge of his bruises in slow, deliberate circular motions. Alfred winced in pain and involuntarily flinched but was kept in place by Arthur’s firm hold. 

“I said, hold still,” Arthur repeated as he continued. Alfred squeezed his eyes shut but remained still as Arthur worked his way around his face. Even in this contused state, Arthur couldn’t help but admire the regal confidence his fine, dimpled face still stubbornly maintained through the anger and pain. “There, done.” Arthur withdrew the swab from his bruise and replaced it with a nimble kiss, causing Alfred’s scowl to soften into a smaller frown as he reopened his eyes. 

Alfred sighed after Arthur stored his aid kit away and explained the details of his not-so-diplomatic visit. Arthur listened in silence as Alfred only grew louder and louder until he finally seemed to have blown a fuse. With one last aggravated groan, he let his body go limp as he collapsed face-first onto Arthur’s chest. Giving in, Arthur leaned back onto the sofa, allowing Alfred to rest his head fully and comfortably on his chest. 

Arthur placed one arm around his back while the other roamed through his hair, slowly combing through soft blond locks as Alfred gradually relaxed in his embrace. 

There was something that still bothered Arthur. Alfred’s wounds looked relatively fresh. For a country such as himself, they should have healed rather quickly. That is, unless…

“Did you come here directly from Moscow?” Arthur asked. Alfred nodded against his chest. Arthur was about to chide him, telling him that he should have gone straight home to Washington, that his was a very important visit, and he couldn’t waste time throwing fits in other countries and avoiding his president. He opened his mouth then promptly closed it at the sound of Alfred’s sudden muffled sniffles. At once, everything else seemed to melt away and Arthur, instead, decided to hold him tighter, running circles on the back of his neck with his fingers, deciding the wetness gathering on his chest was far less important in the moment. They remained that way, Alfred on top of Arthur, until morning. 

Arthur awoke with a sore neck and empty-handed, alone on his sofa. Arthur found Alfred roaming aimlessly around his home, seemingly primarily interested in the various paintings and portraits hanging around his walls. 

“This one here…” Alfred, noticing Arthur approaching behind him, pointed to a large oil on panel painting of Queen Elizabeth I, overlooked by her English navy. Arthur smiled, expecting Alfred to correctly identify her. “...looks like it belongs in a museum.”

Arthur scoffed. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It’s old, Artie!”

“I’m older than any museum around here!”

“Ooh, nice! A self-burn!” Alfred laughed as he continued down the hallway, half skipping, half dancing, always seemingly so light on his feet. “Don’t you have anything more recent? Anything newer?”

“Newer?! You should learn to appreciate the classics!” Arthur called out to him. 

“And you should learn to live in the present!” Alfred called back, already immersed in the next large painting down the hall. 

Arthur took one last glance at the oil painting before running after Alfred, following his guiding laughter. 

Maybe Arthur could consider his suggestions. When Arthur and Alfred first began dating, and Arthur first visited his private home in Lexington, he would make his grievances over Alfred’s lack of tea clear. Arthur rather enjoyed his blend of Assam, Ceylon and Kenyan black tea and could not fathom how Alfred lived. Truly, not even Darjeeling? Earl Grey? No, Alfred had none of that. He’d nonchalantly brush off Arthur’s confounded reactions or jeering at his love for “bitter leaf water”, and Arthur would eventually settle for a glass of water. Arthur had resigned himself to this temporary inconvenience when he stayed with Alfred, figuring there was no use in attempting to change a century-old attitude because, no matter how much milk or sugar cubes Arthur offered, Alfred insisted on its pungent, vinegary taste. 

During his second visit, as Alfred was preparing breakfast, he asked Arthur to fetch him a container of cinnamon as he cooked his pancakes.

“Upper left cabinet, right over there,” he had said, waving a spatula in its direction. Arthur nodded and opened the cabinet and scanned it for the spice and-

“Is this… it is!” Arthur exclaimed, almost completely forgetting about the cinnamon as he clutched a small box in his hands. “You have tea!”

“Oh yeah,” Alfred responded, not looking up, “thought I’d try some out, so I went to the supermarket and picked some random stuff out.” But it was not just any tea. There were several boxes worth of tea in his cabinet, and each and every one of them was one Arthur had mentioned during his last visit. 

“Even Darjeeling? And here I thought you weren’t listening,” Arthur chuckled warmly. 

“And I don’t think you’re listening!” Alfred called back. “The cinnamon, Arthur! Quickly! My pancakes!” Arthur continued to laugh as he tossed the spice to him, admiring the pink shade steadily gracing his cheeks.

With that fond memory in mind, Arthur decided to introduce newer portraits to his collection on the wall. He had his and Alfred’s picture snapped, wondering if Alfred knew entirely what he was up to. Whether he caught on or not, Arthur just wished he could have also snapped a picture of Alfred’s face when he first laid eyes on the framed picture of himself on Arthur’s wall. That’s right, he was on Arthur’s wall. 

“That’s uh- there was something else there before, um,” Alfred stammered as he pointed at it, “There was like, some dead guy, one of the James or Henrys- I don’t know you have a ton of these- but now it’s, there’s- it’s not there anymore and- me.”

“Yes, you,” Arthur snickered, and neither could contain their outward joy, their beaming expressions, their inward delighted shrieks would not let them. 

Arthur adored the look on his face but found himself borderline having to suppress a wince as he later stared at the pictures of them together. The last time there were portraits of Alfred adorned lovingly in his home, they were paintings he had to convince his colony to sit still for- only to have later wound up tearing them down from their place in a fit of grief and rage. Arthur took a deep breath. He’d taken risks before, and none of them bore the potential benefits this did. They will remain this time.

Alfred had followed him into bed that night, complaining about it being too cold, or about having watched a movie that made him too scared to sleep alone, or something. Whatever the reason, they couldn’t really remember. They could only remember the small smile that had briefly accompanied Arthur’s weak sigh as he welcomed Alfred into his bed. Alfred nuzzled into Arthur’s neck as Arthur wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling him in closer. 

Whoever woke up first, they did not think to immediately rise the following morning until the other had awakened. And even then, they still chose to lay there, talking about anything and everything with their limbs still entangled as the morning sun crept through the window. Alfred spoke about the dream he had last night with almost childlike enthusiasm, one where he single-handedly saved the world from Communist aliens by using cutting-edge American technology. Arthur stared back at his wide, starry eyes, obscured slightly by falling strands of golden hair. He reached forward and brushed them gently out of his face. Rather than retract his hand once its original purpose was fulfilled, it lingered longer on soft, lightly tanned skin, cupping his cheek, admiring the way two dimples emerged as he smiled. Alfred, about to deliver the thrilling conclusion to his dream, trailed off as he did so, a faint blush spreading across his face like sweet strawberry jam. 

“Finish your story, love,” Arthur encouraged, “I’m listening.”

“Oh, I, uh, lost my train of thought,” Alfred replied, only seeming to grow more flustered under Arthur’s intent gaze. 

“That’s unfortunate.”

“I was only teasing before, you know.”

“Hm? Teasing about what?” Arthur inquired softly. 

“The paintings. I thought they were a nice touch,” Alfred explained. “I mean, they’re certainly not my thing, but I thought they were so you. I liked them.”

“Oh, I know.”  
Alfred smirked, prompting Arthur to reach an inch over and kiss the tip of his nose. Alfred smelled of April showers and freshly cut roses, and Arthur could not possibly resist the temptation to edge in closer, closer, never close enough, never quite satisfied. They found themselves drawing each other back in, lips just barely grazing the other’s and-

They kicked themselves upon realizing that, for a brief moment, they had mentally entertained the idea of permanence, of a life together like this where they had chosen one another, and not one existing out of mere convenience or necessity, one thrust upon them by their bosses. They disentangled themselves from one another, afraid of their own thoughts while simultaneously rising with a comforting warmth in their chests. Almost as if they had been shaken awake in perfect unison, out of their blissful drowsiness and slapped with the realization of what they were about to do, they pulled away before their lips could make full contact and sprung out of bed, reddened faces desperately searching for anything else to talk about, from the need to open the blinds and release more light into the room to the importance of having breakfast at once. 

After Alfred had left, it was hard to not think about him even then. In addition to invading his mind, it seemed he had also begun to invade his home, little by little. Alfred had refused to use the same shampoos as Arthur had, insisting his hair required different products to maintain luscious locks. When he left, he’d also left various kinds of shampoos and conditioners in his bathroom. Arthur didn’t understand why Alfred needed so many, or what every travel-sized bottle was specifically designed for, but he found himself unable to throw them away immediately after Alfred left, knowing he had no use for them.

Then there was also that discolored patch of wall by the kitchen. Once, Arthur had promised to bring home pumpkin bars and chocolate pudding after Alfred had complained about Arthur not keeping enough sweet treats in his home. Arthur thought his cupcakes and scones were more than sweet enough but conceded anyway. As soon as Alfred had heard the familiar sound of footsteps sauntering off in the kitchen, he’d bolted down the stairs, making sharp turns left and right until his exuberant energy backfired. As he turned to make another turn, he’d lost his footing as his feet slipped underneath the slightly upturned corner of a carpet, sending him hurling against the wall. 

Arthur had found him, a mortified yet amused expression on his face and arm rammed inside a fist-sized hole in the wall. The difference between that section of his wall and the rest of it was nearly unnoticeable unless you were actively looking for it. And Arthur did look for it, occasionally rolling his eyes and running his fingers along the outer borders of the circular patch.

As much as he’d denied if asked, the somewhat mismatched part of wall had grown on him. It was proof that Alfred had been there, that he had been excited to the point of a torn hole. They were finally together. After over a century of tense atmospheres and antagonistic glares, they could finally be with one another without the fear or worry that the other could betray them and without any of the grudges of the past. No, now they would operate together, step by step. 

At least, the United States and the United Kingdom had. Although their bosses had clarified that, they themselves had yet to, still separated by a century’s worth of grief and yearn, drowning in the words they weren’t saying.

Arthur, for one, valued closure even if he did not always pursue it. As a nation, such a thing was rather hard to come by and he was usually content letting bygones be bygones, but in this peculiar case, Arthur found himself craving it more than usual. After all, they had never addressed any past major conflicts, they had merely allowed time and unpleasant circumstances bring them together, gradually mitigating the spite and hurt they’d accumulated over the years.

There were times Arthur thought he sensed the perfect opportunity to reintroduce the topic back into their lives though he never did. Never one to be so open and vulnerable, Arthur feared Alfred’s response. He would not know how to react if Alfred merely brushed him off or berated him for bringing up a war nearly two hundred years after its conclusive end. It was safer to remain this way, figuring this aching feeling couldn’t be worse than possible rejection.

But there had definitely been significant steps forward, and they were diligently clawing their way through more. Arthur, for one, had finally taken to celebrating Alfred’s Independence Day alongside him, successfully casting aside any past afflictions without any difficulty. But he would be lying if he said the memory of that day no longer provoked the occasional nightmare around the time of its anniversary. He would see him then, shoving him away in the rain, proclaiming his hate as he glowered down at him before he was led away by Francis guiding hand.

About a month after Alfred’s annual celebratory party, Arthur was set to visit again in spite of his lingering sensitivities surrounding the proximity of the date. They had not, after all, been a problem for a long time, and they shouldn’t be now. 

For no other reason other than he wanted to see him sooner, Arthur decided to depart for Winthrop a week in advance, completely missing the overlapping French scheduled official state visit in his anticipation. 

As Arthur’s plane landed, Francis was arriving at Alfred’s home. Rather than return to his hotel, Alfred, who complained about not being able to spend enough time with him anymore, insisted Francis follow him back home after their meeting. Francis, figuring he had more than enough time and was also missing the younger man’s bouncy and carefree company, happily agreed. As an added bonus, Francis was pleasantly surprised to find Alfred carrying his favorite brand of tea.

“It’s all because of that Englishman’s influence, isn’t it?” Francis exclaimed, not one to pass up an opportunity to tease him and watch as his face flushed through a dimpled smile that still upheld rather nicely in spite of the embarrassment. “It’s like I don’t even recognize you anymore!”

“Oh, relax! It’s still plenty me! Just because there’s some tea in the cupboard and-“

“Tea? In the cupboard? Your cupboard?!” Francis sighed and feigned disbelief. After tea and dinner, they retired to the living room and now sat on the couch together, giving Francis the perfect venue for his melodramatic performance. Placing a hand dramatically over his face, he leaned over a giggling Alfred. “Are you even listening to yourself?”

“I am! But, well, when you say it like that.”

“Surely, you won’t forget about me, hm?” Francis leaned his full weight on Alfred who continued to scoot further away until he ran out of space, finally giving in and allowing his full weight to overcome him without further struggle as Francis practically climbed on top of him. “Ah well, I’m no stranger to English rivals. I certainly won’t go down without a fight- especially not when you’re so vulnerable for attack right now!”

Unbeknownst to the two, Arthur had already walked in. 

Francis wrapped his arms around Alfred’s torso, reaching around to restrain and tickle him, planting a kiss on his cheek and further pushing him back onto the couch. Alfred, laughing, playfully pushed him away as Francis continued to cling onto him. 

Arthur dropped his heavy bag on the floor with a loud thud, causing the two men before him to jump. Francis snapped his head towards the unexpected noise and, noticing the darkening scowl on Arthur’s face, scrambled to remove himself from Alfred, quickly hoisting himself back on the ground on both feet in a matter of seconds.

“Oh, Arthur!” Alfred’s face lit up, beaming up at Arthur as he propped himself up on his elbows. “I wasn’t expecting you for another week!”

“I caught an earlier flight,” Arthur replied in a monotone voice, eyes still intently focused on Francis.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve picked you up!”

“I wanted to surprise you. But it looks like you beat me to it.” 

Alfred was about to ask what he meant by that when his blue eyes temporarily locked with acidic green ones, watching how they darted back and forth between him and Francis, and refrained from asking, his smile rapidly fading as he slowly sat up on the couch. 

“Well, I do apologize, Alfred, but it seems I must see to my responsibilities back in Washington,” Francis sighed and meandered over to the table where his coat lay to promptly retrieve it. Avoiding Arthur’s gaze and general proximity, he waved goodbye and wished the two a lovely evening before hurriedly scurrying out the door before Alfred could protest or offer to walk him out.

The distant shutting of a door was heard, and then there was silence. Cold, unnerving silence. Alfred slowly rose from his place and made his way towards the kitchen.

“Why don’t you take off your coat? I’ll go get you some tea,” Alfred said, deciding he’d attempt to alleviate some tension in the room before properly addressing it.

“Just get me some water. I’m not in the mood for waiting.”

“Oh, I’ve actually just made some Earl Grey. Francis wanted some,” Alfred explained and did not ask why he was unwilling to wait a mere ten minutes.

Arthur inhaled sharply and slowly removed his long coat. He took a seat across the couch Alfred and Francis had sat on and stared at it. 

Alfred returned as quickly as he could, tea set in arms, and set it down on the table behind Arthur as he began to prepare it, pausing occasionally to glance over at Arthur’s back as the thick tension lingered in the air. 

“Arthur,” Alfred began, quietly in an almost sigh. “I had a meeting with Francis this afternoon. His continued support is important to us. After our meeting, I invited him back-“

“Invited him back to your home for tea,” Arthur silently finished for him. Alfred paused, tea kettle in hand, to stare forlornly at Arthur’s back. “Where was your meeting? Washington, I presume? Massachusetts’s quite a ways away, don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Alfred said, trying to keep his voice as leveled as Arthur’s but unable to help let some frustration seep through his tone. “A seven hour drive isn’t as bad for us as it is for you Europeans.”

“Oh? Is Francis no longer European?”

“What? Oh, you know what I meant!”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Alfred exhaled deeply, deciding to focus back on the heavy kettle in his hand. He tried to pour the tea in the cup as calmly as possible. 

“Listen, Arthur,” Alfred began once again, less tense and calmer. “I hadn’t seen Francis in a while, I just wanted to hang out for a bit before he had to leave again. There is nothing else that he nor I wanted.” 

“It would not matter if you had.”

“What?” Alfred stood frozen once again, teacup in hand and, for whatever reason, not daring to take a step forward, opting instead to stare with near contempt into the liquid below him. 

Having spent the past few years blissfully indulging in Alfred's comforting company, Arthur had often neglected the reality of their relationship, that it had been his prime minister who had originally pressed Alfred's president for them to be together, and Arthur had almost forgotten- or perhaps, dared to dream- that Alfred had not been the one to suggest this relationship. And now, that reminder had unexpectedly returned like a shrieking ringing in his head. He poked his head over his shoulder and leaned against the armrest to finally look at Alfred before deciding just as quickly that that was too much and swiftly turning away. His tone betrayed his intentions, but he needed to explain to Alfred that such things were not necessarily an indication of a failed alliance. He needed Alfred to understand that he would not be what stood between him and his potential happiness. The last thing Arthur wanted was for someone to be miserably tied to him. He had almost stopped Alfred once before but never again.

“At the rise of the Hapsburg Dynasty,” Arthur suddenly began explaining to a rather confused Alfred, hand gesturing vaguely as he recounted, “Austria and Spain were married. It was arranged, of course, not unlike our own relationship- not that we’re married, obviously- all for the sake of politics at their boss’s request.”

“Yeah, I’m aware of their history, you know.”

“-And so neither of them were ever truly fully emotionally invested in the other,” Arthur continued, ignoring Alfred’s minor interjection, “so when Austria finally took a genuine interest in someone, it was not Spain, but Hungary. This, their respective bosses would have been absolutely furious to discover- so they never did. Spain conjured excuses on Austria’s behalf and turned a blind eye to their affair. This isn’t an unusual thing for us nations. After centuries of witnessing these arranged relationships, you begin to understand what to expect.”

But not with us, not with us, Alfred wanted to scream, but found himself voiceless as he grasped the corners of the cup in his hands instead. 

“I never thought I would find myself in such an arrangement,” Arthur slipped back into his former position, facing the dull wall as Alfred was left to gawk at his back once more. “But I know what to expect. Whatever you wish to do, and with whoever you want to do it with, it shouldn't matter to me. I know you’re young, and you’re not as well acquainted with these situations quite yet, but know there’s no need to explain yourself.” 

He meant his words, and yet he didn’t. As he spoke, Arthur spoke with both contempt and reassurance. He continued. “Do you as you please, and I will lie for the sake of our alliance and, in return, you will lie for me as I do what I please as we-”

Arthur was startled out of his position, the sharp shattering of glass piercing through his thoughts and ears. He turned to the sound to find the scattered fragments of his favorite tea cup littered across the floor alongside droplets of dark tea and, more importantly, a stunned American standing above them, still holding his hand out as if he had not just dropped the cup, a mortified expression on his face that instantly sent remorseful shivers across Arthur’s body. 

For a moment neither said a word, they simply gawked at the other with no other sound in the room but the loud striking of a nearby clock and Alfred’s breathing. Alfred was the first to move. He pursed his lips as a dark scowl fell on his usually bright exterior. 

“I don’t understand how you can say things like that. I hate how cold you can be, how you can speak without caring about how the other person feels...well, if that’s how you want things...” Without another word or another glance, Alfred darted towards the door. Nevermind the fact that this was his home, he was impatient to get out and get away. Almost immediately, whatever scorn he was containing evaporated and he found his feet moving the second Alfred’s back was turned to him. Something about his movements that forced Arthur out of his state and out of his seat. Arthur called out to him as he chased him through the home outside, rushing past the portraits of them together framed so perfectly on the walls, past the handcrafted shelf holding some of Arthur’s favorite authors, past the tea scented aroma still emanating from the kitchen. 

It was raining out, Arthur was surprised to find, despite the fact that it had been fairly sunny when he’d arrived minutes ago. Arthur reached out to him and grabbed his arm, urging him to wait only to have Alfred yank his arm away, flashing a glimpse of his hurt, wet face. 

“Quit it! I don’t want to look at you right now- let go!” That alone should have been enough for Arthur to retreat, to get the hint to leave him be and allow him to storm off and, for a second, he did pause and consider it. But that view, that painfully reminiscent view, of Alfred’s dismal figure running away from him in the pouring rain, was enough to shake him out of it. Arthur sprinted towards him once again, this time turning him around to face him.

“You’re not running off like this again! No, I won’t let you- let myself hurt us like this again,” Arthur relented, grabbing Alfred’s face to push their foreheads together. Alfred frowned and grasped Arthur’s arms tightly but made no real effort to shove him away, paralyzed under that intent gaze. 

There, Arthur had caught up to him. Now what? Pressed together like this, Arthur realized he hadn’t the foggiest idea of what to say next. Instinct had propelled him towards his dashing figure, and now they were left to stare wordlessly at each other again. Arthur was afraid Alfred would become impatient and tear himself away again when he spoke.

“I’m sorry,” Alfred choked out. Arthur closed his eyes and sighed, feeling the continuous pelting of the raindrops against his already soaked hair and clothes.

“There is nothing to apologize for,” Arthur murmured back, his breath serving as the only warmth in the cold rain. “I understand. Francis was only-”

“No, no, not that,” Alfred interrupted, shaking his head slightly. 

“Then what?” Alfred did not reply, he only stared downward, the grip on Arthur’s arms having since loosened. Arthur sighed softly and pulled away, reassured Alfred would most likely not attempt to run away again, and took his hand as he led them back inside the house. 

In silence, Arthur cleaned the spilled mess and broken shards of glass on the floor as Alfred dried his and then Arthur’s hair. After a long moment of silence, they finally found themselves facing one another again.

“Sorry we have to do this,” Alfred spoke in an uncharacteristically soft and low tone. “I’m sorry we couldn’t have made our own decisions.” I want you to be happy.

“We can make one now.”

“Huh?”

“Forget our bosses. What are they to do if we come out and say we won’t go through with their plans? That we aren’t truly a loving couple?” Arthur continued slowly, as if carefully choosing his every word. “They can punish us, sure, but whatever they come up with can’t be any worse than being forced to pretend to love someone you don’t. And I certainly won’t be forced.”

Alfred looked away and towards the floor, unable to form any audible words, attempting to process Arthur’s words while simultaneously almost attempting to deny them. Arthur continued anyhow. 

“And so, if we continued down this path, well, I wouldn’t mind,” Arthur continued.

“What? But you just said you won’t be forced!”

“Yes.”

“Yes?! But-” Alfred shut his mouth and turned to look back at Arthur who was staring back at him with uneasy eyes and a flushed face. “Ah. So you- you don’t want to- but you do want to!” Arthur nodded in confirmation as Alfred gestured wildly, unsure of what he was agreeing to exactly. Alfred seemed to understand anyway, but there remained a hint of doubt in his eyes Arthur decided he’d placate. 

“If I had it my way, I’d like to wake up to the smell of coffee every morning. You’d tease me about my interior design and my decorum and I’d defend myself and criticize yours in return, and I’d be so happy. So happy.” Arthur exhaled slowly, still somewhat in disbelief over everything he was admitting, a deeper blush developing on pale skin. He was exposing a certain kind of vulnerability, and with that came the inherent risk of rejection. “And I… and I’m sorry about before. I promise I only want to see you happy and-”

He swallowed his words as Alfred burst into a fit of uncontrollable giggling. 

“I know, I know, you don’t have to keep struggling like that- I understand,” he laughed, and for a moment Arthur wondered if he was mocking him and frowned. “And I- I-” Alfred could not finish his words, each syllable collapsing into abrupt chortles. 

“What? What’s so funny?” Arthur demanded as Alfred wiped the tears from his eyes, still attempting and failing to suppress his giggles.

“It’s just you- pfft!” Alfred doubled forward, burying his face in the crane of Arthur’s neck where his laughter became muffled. “You know, you’re absolutely out of your mind if you think I’m ever letting you go, if you think you’re ever going to shake me off- just look at you! You look so silly! You sound so silly! You're so, so sentimental and corny! I love that so much about you- I love you so much! ” 

Almost at once, Alfred’s laughter ceased as both his and Arthur’s bodies tensed and froze in place as they simultaneously processed Alfred’s words.

“Alfred,” Arthur spoke, trying to gently push Alfred off as he clung on tighter. “Alfred, let me see your face.” Alfred groaned in protest but eventually let Arthur pry him off his shoulder and cup his heavily blushed face in hands, pulling him closer until their foreheads were touching. Once again, now facing Alfred so closely, Arthur was left gawking again, unable to form any words he thought could suit the moment. His mind had been racing with a thousand things he wanted to tell him just minutes ago. 

Now, left without a single thought he could coherently articulate, he laughed. 

“Now why are you laughing?” Alfred pouted.

“Because I’m happy! I’m so, so happy, my love, my life, my sunshine, my golden retriever, my most beloved!” Arthur pulled him back in again, tightly wrapping his arms around his body and pulling his head back in to nuzzle against it. Alfred protested at the sudden way his body was squeezed but ultimately did not resist. He exhaled deeply and relaxed into his embrace, clinging back just as tightly, determined not to let go this time, smiling in his continuously laughing embrace. 

As their hands rose to intertwine together, Arthur figured there would be more than enough time to address any former or present grievances. For two immortal beings, there was certainly no rush. But right now, they were both perfectly content reserving this moment, and the next, for abandoning every other care in the world. Eventually, of course, this and that and every other world problem would need to be properly addressed, but they would do it hand in hand, beyond pleased to know that the other held their hand with the same amount of warmth as the other.

**Author's Note:**

> And there it is! First fic uploaded! Thanks to everyone who got to this point!


End file.
